Summer 2015. After
waiting so long to become a mom, I was finally going to have the whole summer
to spend with my little girl. There was
conversation of play dates with my mommy friends, and mommy and me classes to
attend. I had never been so excited for
summer break. And, as a teacher, I had
ALWAYS been excited for summer break.
This one wasn’t necessarily going to be super relaxing, with a baby to
take care of, but it was going to be glorious.
Best laid plans…
So, after multiple IVF attempts a few years back, subsequent
miscarriages, and finally choosing the path of adoption which led us to our
sweet girl, I learned something I never thought was possible. I can get pregnant from having sex. (Dad, if
you’re reading this…sorry).
John and I were in shock.
I mean, total, utter and complete shock.
We were going to have a second child.
Our little baby was going to be a big sister. Another baby was on the way.
I am not going to lie…I did not necessarily find the idea of
having two babies less than 18 months apart super appealing. I was scared of how this curveball would
affect Charlotte, our carefully planned finances, my job at a new elementary
school, and our lives as a whole.
But, our families were filled joy over this news. Once the initial shock wore off, John joined
them. But me? I was trying to manage my nausea and such bad
dry-heaving that my voice became shot. I
had almost no energy and spent much of my time laying on the couch feeling
sorry for myself that my summer plans with my daughter were shot as well. Many women can endure first trimester woes
far greater than I can, I am sure. But
stuff like this has always brought me to my knees. I am a giant baby when it comes to stuff like
this. And that’s an understatement,
people.
After my blood work showed a hint of a possible issue, we
had an early first ultrasound. There it
was. A tiny little baby with a strong
heartbeat. John stood next to me and
held my hand as the sweet sound of our baby’s heartbeat filled the room. So, yeah folks, we were for sure going to
have another baby.
Life went on, the nausea and exhaustion continued, and we
went for our next ultrasound. John,
Charlotte and I settled into the exam room and the Dr. began the
ultrasound. In an instant I knew as I
looked at the screen. There was our tiny
baby, but without its heartbeat…almost two years to the day of our last
pregnancy loss. Just like last time,
there was zero warning and I was having no “textbook” symptoms that indicate
any pregnancy issue. Just like last
time, the rug was pulled out from under us.
And it sucks. The
whole damn thing just sucks.
Since then, Mark Zuckerberg and his wife, Pricilla Chen, and
actress and blogger Eva Martino (Susan Sarandon’s daughter) have shared that they
too have suffered pregnancy loss. In
reading their statements on the matter, they both brought up an important
question: why aren’t we talking about miscarriage more?
In piecing this post together in my head, I tried to count
the people I personally know who have suffered pregnancy loss. You know what? I lost count.
That in of itself is a sad fact, but the fact that we are left to feel
lonely, sad, depressed and even shameful after pregnancy loss is a hugely sad
fact as well.
If you are reading this and know from personal experience
what I am expressing, I am so sorry for all you’ve been through and I am
sending you a big hug. If you are
reading this and haven’t personally experienced this painful aspect of life,
but know someone who has, do them a favor and be there. Listen to them. Let them talk about their little angel. Bring them flowers, their favorite candy, or
give them a long, tight hug. Don’t offer
advice on something you personally have not experienced. Just do not do it.
So, here we are a family of three that is staying that
way. But, as time passes, I realize how
much I really would have loved for a baby to join our family, and to have been
able to give Charlotte a sibling. Sadly,
it’s just not meant to be. But was IS
meant to be is having our amazing little girl, a wonderful husband and the
support of our family and friends.
With a grateful heart that’s a little more broken than on my
last summer vacation, I’ll take it.
